


Backstage

by measure_for_measure



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 00:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17612249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/measure_for_measure/pseuds/measure_for_measure
Summary: You weren't as alone backstage as you thought you were... John Deacon decides to keep you company, and things take an unexpected turn.





	Backstage

“Damn.” Sinking down onto the suspiciously stained couch that had been pushed into a corner, you let yourself stretch out. It was your first day working as a roadie, and you had just finished setting up the backstage area while the band was away at an interview.

You let your eyes close, muscles beginning to ache. At least you finally had some peace and quiet. “And my flower arrangements are shit,” you griped aloud. 

“I think they’re quite good, actually.” A familiar voice spoke from the opposite side of the room.

Startled, your eyes flew open, “Oh my god--I’m so sorry, I thought you were gone at the interview!” Jumping to your feet, you frantically looked around the room for something to do. Unfortunately for you, you had been surprisingly competent earlier.

A look of concern flashed over his face, and he stepped forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wasn’t a part of this interview, I’m afraid,” he smiled, crookedly.

“Oh, that’s alright.” You bit your lip, “And that’s awful...” You weren’t sure what else to say. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “So,” your words trailed off again.

He rocked back on his heels, like he felt slightly out of place.

“How’s the tour going?” 

“Good, good.” John nodded, and your eyes lingered on his face for a moment too long.

Moving across the room, he hovered next to the couch, “Is it alright if I sit next to you?” 

“Oh, of course!” You couldn’t help but smile. There was a nervous flutter in your belly as he sat down on the other side of the couch. “So when do you think the rest of the band will get back?” You hoped you didn’t sound like you were trying to get rid of him, you really just wanted to keep talking. 

He squinted down at the floor, thinking. “Should be back in about an hour or so, interviews usually don’t take that long.” His eyes moved back up to meet yours, and your heart jumped.

“Oh, oh good,” you spoke impulsively, a blush rising on your cheeks.

John didn’t reply, but he didn’t break eye contact either. You could’ve sworn that one of you had moved closer to the other. Even though you’d never met him before, you felt a kind of magnetic attraction that you couldn’t explain.

You were the first one to glance away, your heart still beating faster. “Sorry, I just really like talking to you.” 

“It’s alright, I feel the same.” He sounded hesitant, and you slowly raised your eyes back to his face. He had leaned forward slightly, his gaze inscrutable. “I don’t usually do this,” he reached over, putting one of his hands on yours, “it’s not too fast, is it?”

You shook your head, lost for words. Then you laughed breathlessly, “No, it’s perfect. I don’t do this usually either.”

“Well I know we don’t have much time,” he shot a quick glance at his watch, “so I hope that we can keep seeing eachother.” 

You smiled, “I’d love that.” You relished the warmth of his hand on yours. 

He leaned in closer to you, then paused, as if there was something he was holding back. 

“John?” You murmured, turning to face towards him and placing your other hand on top of his. “If there’s something you want to say, just say it. I won’t judge,” you smiled. 

The only thing he said was your name. It sounded sweet and strange on his lips, and you found yourself wanting him to say it again and again. You didn’t know how he knew it, but you didn’t really care. He leaned in even closer, until you could feel his breath on your lips.  
You closed your eyes, tilting your head and holding your breath, feeling yourself move towards him. And then his lips touched yours. You hadn’t been kissed in a long time, and it felt like a spark had been struck.

His lips were soft, and one of his hands reached up to cup your cheek while the other slipped around your waist.

You pulled back first, arms slipping around him. “Wow,” you laughed.

“Is this alright?” His pupils had dilated, darkening his eyes, and he held you closer.

“God yes,” this time you leaned in first, crashing your mouth against his and lightly biting his lower lip.

John pressed harder against you, slipping his tongue into your mouth. 

A few moments later he pulled back, taking both of your hands in his and pulling you to your feet. His breathing was heavy as he wrapped his arms back around you. “Do you want me to stop?” His gaze was intense. “We don’t have much time.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and your legs felt weak. “No, but I don’t want to be just a one-time fuck,” you flushed from the intensity of your own words.

“You won’t be,” he ran his fingers through your hair, and you rested your head on his shoulder. “I mean it,” you could feel the vibration of his voice when he spoke, and you buried your nose in the crook of his neck.

The moment hung in the air for a moment before the heat swelled within you again. You began to trail kisses up his neck, nipping here and there as you went, smiling against his skin when you heard him bite back a moan.

“God, love…” His voice was husky, head tipping back, “Fuck.” Now he pushed you away, grabbing your wrists and staring down at you.  
Your eyes widened, worried for a moment that you had gone too far until you saw the bulge in his tight jeans. “Tell me about it,” you quipped boldly, pushing back your shoulders.

“Oh I will, love.” He stepped forward, moving you backwards until you hit the wall, pinning your arms above your head. Leaning down, he left a burning kiss on your exposed collarbone before moving up to your neck. His lips caressed the skin, leaving a hickey, his warm breath heaven on the bruise.

You couldn’t help but moan, reaching down in retaliation with one hand to rub his erection through his jeans.

He bit his lip, bucking instinctively against your hand. Releasing one of your wrists, he searched in his back pocket for a moment before cursing, “I don’t have--”

You cut him off with another kiss, “It’s okay, we don’t have to go that far.” Wrapping your arms around his waist, you pulled him against you and ground your hips against his. Moaning, you let your eyes fall shut as he began to grind against you, letting his head fall onto your shoulder. Panting, a groan escaped his lips and he turned his head to leave another hickey on your neck.

The rough fabric of your jeans rubbed against your clit, and you could feel a tight ball of heat and pleasure building within you. “John, fuck,” you moaned, unable to form a coherent thought.

He could only groan your name, grinding against you harder, faster, his thrusts becoming more erratic and sloppy, his forehead pressing against your neck.

Reaching up and tangling a hand in his hair--damp with sweat--you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood as you felt your orgasm beginning to wash over you. 

You cried out, the sound sliding into a moan as pleasure cascaded through you, your hips seizing up, body arching and imploding as the tight core within you exploded.

“Oh fuck,” John swore, gripping you to him tightly and holding you as your orgasm wracked your frame. Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, he lightly rubbed your back as you leaned against him for a few moments, recovering.

“Your turn now,” you looked back up, meeting his eyes, legs still feeling like jelly. Before he could protest, you reached down and began to rub his throbbing erection through his jeans. It wasn’t glamorous, but neither was any of this.

He let out a shuddering moan, bracing himself against the wall with one arm. It didn’t take long before he threw back his head, clutching blindly at your hand, gasping, and you felt the warmth of his release under your palm, soaking through the fabric of his jeans.

“Damn, that was fast,” you couldn’t help but tease as he sank against you, pressing a kiss to your lips.

He leaned back to look at you, the crooked grin returning, “Sorry love.” Pulling you back against him, he guided you to the couch and sank down onto it, pulling you down to sit on his lap.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you smiled contentedly. “I don’t mind really, less work for me,” you laughed, tracing patterns on his chest with one finger. “Maybe next time,” You hinted, not so subtly.

“Right,” he began to rub your back, glancing down at you fondly.

“Y’know, they should leave you out of interviews more often.” Your eyes began to drift closed, and all you could hear was his heartbeat. 

Everything was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Important! This work is shipping a characterization of the past public persona of John Deacon. It is in NO WAY meant to be connected to the Real John Deacon & his family/private life.


End file.
